Our little Tiggy pup is loath to eat,
Although I’ve tempted her with every treat
She typically would gobble from my hand;
The way she acts, it might as well be sand.
We say dismissively, “She’s off her feed,”
Hoping that in a while we will succeed,
That with a walk perhaps and some fresh air,
She’ll eat again, responding to our care.
Meanwhile, we empathize. She’s not herself—
A spritely, frolicsome and impish elf
Delighting us with all her sportive play,
Though now it seems her sunny sky’s gone gray.
She’ll rally soon, I’m sure, and this will pass,
Then she’ll be giving us her usual sass.